The Lunatic, the Valet, and the Wardrobe Department
by EeksandGiggles
Summary: Brody's dream of backstage success in the WWE comes screeching to a halt when the "opportunity of a lifetime" thrusts her into the dramatic world of the squared circle and into the path of an unstable man.
1. Chapter 1

Brody blew a stray lock of hair from her face with a huff. She was surrounded by yards of glittery spandex, gold lamé, and black leather. She slammed her head into the fabric, a dull _umph_ resonating from the table.

"If I have to sew on one more sparkly doo dah to any more spangly, frilly bullshit I am going to lose my mind, and possibly the feeling in my fingers." She groaned looking at her band aid covered fingers.

Eliza, the wardrobe coordinator, rolled her eyes.

"If you don't like sewing the sparkly ' _bullshit_ ' I'm sure we could send you back to measurements."

Brody groaned louder, pulling her head out of a pile of spandex.

It was only three months ago that she so excitedly walked through the doors of the WWE cooperate office for orientation. Three months ago that she dreamed of designing flashy costumes and ring attire that would be talked about on message boards and blogs for years as being "integral to character development" and all sorts of other bullshit. Now she spent her time respangling skirts, reinforcing the crotches on every pair of pants put in front of her, and memorizing the exact measurements of almost every superstar on the roster. Her knowledge of the Diva's cup sizes would impress any sixteen year old boy.

But if there was any job worse than the mind numbing task of endlessly sewing on sparkly things to shimmery fabric, it was taking measurements.

Brody found the superstars to be nice enough, some were down right friendly, most simply ignored her. The thing she hated most about taking measurements was just how horribly awkward it made her. Asking Randy Orton or John Cena to hold still for her to measure their inseams sent her into such a horrible, red, stuttering state that she was surprised she was able to measure correctly. And telling a diva that she's gained an inch around her waist or telling a headliner that he lost an inch around his bicep, it was soul crushingly, terribly **awkward.**

"I guess spangly bullshit isn't _that_ bad," Brody sighed.

Her boss responded only with a light "hmm".

With Raw being less than 24 hours away Brody knew it would be a long night, but after close to eight hours of nonstop, silent sewing she thought she would go mad. Eliza was a sweet woman, sweet but not much for company. She was a hard worker and had long perfected her stern glare. She never raised her voice but she also never joked or laughed.

Brody rubbed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, stretching back in her chair as she did so. She closed her eyes and took several deep breathes in, not hearing as someone approached her work station.

"Jesus!" Brody jumped at the sound of something being thrown onto the table in front of her.

"Try again sweetheart," the man grinned, obnoxiously popping his gum while he stared down at her.

Dean Ambrose stood, towering above her.

Brody felt the blood rush to her face. Her cheeks were no doubt a violent shade of tomato. Dean noticed this change in her complexion and his grin grew smug.

He leaned on her table with both hands, bending his face down to meet her at eye level.

"I need this repaired by tomorrow," he said, an accent Brody couldn't quite place seeping through his arrogant smile.

Brody nodded nervously and glanced at the cloth in front of her, a black leather jacket. It was standard, not too many pockets, no rhinestones and glitter like some of the wrestlers preferred, and at the elbow was a large tear. The repair was one Brody was more than capable of doing, but she already had a pile of clothes to repair for everyone else performing the next night.

She bit her lower lip as she examined the gash in the fabric. She ran her fingers delicately over the material, bracing herself before she spoke.

"I will do my best, but I may not be able to finish it in time. We already have alterations and repairs to make for almost every-"

Dean cut her off, his grin became forced.

"I need this for tomorrow," he reiterated, "and make sure you do it," he gestured, waving his hands carelessly at Brody. "Because every time she fixes something of mine it falls apart in minutes," he said, raising his voice loud enough for Eliza to hear, tossing a glare in her direction for good measure.

He was still leaning against Brody's work station, his hands fisted in the fabric and his face only a foot from her own, agitation etched all over it.

Brody had never met Dean in person, but she knew enough about him. She grew up watching wrestling with her brothers. She remembered, rather clearly, watching Dean wrestle on the independent circuit. He was walking controlled chaos. His wrestling style was as unpredictable as he was. His head could be pouring blood, his opponent lying motionless in the ring, and he would have the same goofy, tongue out grin on his face he always did. He enjoyed the violence. She specifically remembered an interview with him in which he rambled on incoherently while manhandling the female interviewer, tossing her around and wrapping his hand around her neck, all the while waving a fork around as if it were a switchblade. Brody knew she had to tread carefully.

His eyes bore into hers.

"I will do my best," she tried to sound confident, despite the slight waver in her voice.

Dean smacked his gum, his cocky grin reappearing as if operated by a switch.

"You do that." He pounded his hands on the table before strolling away nonchalantly.

Brody stared at the doorway for a couple beats, and when she was sure he was out of earshot she groaned loudly and let her head drop onto the table. _Umph._

From her pile of fabric Brody heard Eliza mumble, "something's not right with that man."

Brody lifted her head and turned to face Eliza, glaring, but Eliza was already back to sewing.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note:

This chapter started to get very long so I broke it up into two parts. Hope you guys don't mind! Enjoy!

Brody awoke with a start, her head buried in a mound of black leather. She rubbed her eyes, dry from a tedious night of sewing, and stretched her legs out in front of her letting out a sleepy groan. A dry crack emanated from her stiff knees. Her hands searched the piles of fabric for her phone, finding it under one of Lana's red power suits. It was almost 6:30. She may have spent her entire night in the makeshift wardrobe headquarters, but her pile of alterations, repairs, and re-spanglings was complete.

The room was empty other than Brody and the pile of cloth on her table. Eliza must have left sometime after Brody dozed off.

"Thanks for waking me 'Liza," she grumbled under her breath, running a hand through her tangled hair.

At this hour she was going to have to hunt down a lone security guard or janitor to unlock a door for her to leave, that or sneak into the diva's locker room for a shower and hope no one noticed the wrinkles in her day old clothes. She knew from experience that both options left a lot to be desired.

A shout from the hallways pulled Brody's attention away from the rat's nest that had formed on her head overnight. She couldn't hear what was being said but the voice was distinctly feminine. A second voice joined in, deeper than the first. A man and woman were arguing. Curiosity overtook Brody and she found herself creeping silently to the door. She leaned an ear against the cold metal. The arguing was a fast back and forth, their voices echoing loudly down the long, empty hallway. The way sound carried in these stadiums they could be on opposite other side of building. She debated against cautioning a peak. Since she started working for the WWE she had been witness to more than a few backstage fights and they never failed to be entertaining. Watching wrestlers continue their feuds backstage, away from the cameras and audience, where there was no referee to pull them apart, or hearing a couple air all of their dirty laundry in a dressing room they think is soundproof, it was all fodder for the WWE gossip mill, and if there was one thing the backstage of the WWE loved, it was drama and gossip.

She knew she shouldn't, but her curiosity got the better of her. Slowly and quietly she cracked the door open. No one. She poked her head out and glanced around. The arguing was getting louder. Now Brody recognized the voices. It was none other than Stephanie McMahon and her husband Hunter. Brody froze in a brief state of panic. Although she had worked for the WWE for close to three months, she had yet to be within eye sight of her two bosses. Stephanie rounded the corner first, her attention still on her husband behind her. Brody stood, too panicked to move, half in/half out of the wardrobe office door.

"He needs a valet Hunter or the audience won't connect with him," Stephanie's voice was stern, she was visibly agitated, but Brody couldn't help noticing that even at 6:30 in the morning she was perfectly manicured in a black power suit and heels.

"Heard ya the first time Steph, but valets don't exactly grow on trees. We don't have the time or man power to send someone out on a wild goose chase for a reliable girl."

Stephanie was about to retort when she spotted the stray girl standing in the doorway, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights.

Brody attempted to take a step back into the makeshift wardrobe office.

A look of outrage spread over Stephanie's face as she realized that their conversation had not been quite as private as she had intended.

"Hey! Excuse me…you, yes you. What are you doing back here?"

Brody's mouth opened and closed without any sound escaping. She willed her sleep deprived brain to think of something to say. Her voice came out in a nervous stutter.

"I was just finishing up some work and I…I heard yelling…"

She trailed off and felt a burn creep into her cheeks.

Stephanie was unmoved. She eyed Brody critically. The gossip mill was strong backstage, and she knew exactly why the girl was eavesdropping. Very few things ever escaped the backstage grapevine, a fact which bothered Stephanie McMahon and her father before her to no end. It exposed a weak spot, a part of WWE life they could not control.

Brody shifted her weight anxiously, anticipating the brutal reprimand that awaited her. She picked at one of the band aids covering her sore fingers.

Hunter stood in the background, checking his phone and running through the list of what still needed to be done before show time that night. He would let Stephanie handle the backstage drama, he had bigger things to worry about, like where to find a valet with a clean background check and drug screen in time for RAW.

Stephanie's eyes narrowed suspiciously.  
"How did you get in here? The doors were locked when we got here."

Brody swallowed hard.

"I…uh…I stayed late last night. We had so many alterations to get ready… I guess I just lost track of time…" She sputtered out.

"You mean you stayed here _all night_ ," Stephanie's tone changed from outrage to mildly impressed. It was hard enough to get their millionaire wrestlers to devote so much time to the product, let alone some nameless crew member.

"We've been really backed up lately with Becky leaving and all the traveling," the words came tumbling out of Brody's mouth in quick succession. She was still backpedaling; unaware that Stephanie was already thinking of a way to use the situation to her advantage.

She held a hand up to stop the young girls rambling.

Hunter let out an impatient sigh.

"Do we really have time for this Steph?"

This time he was on the receiving end of Steph's silencing hand.

She eyed the girl in front of her.

She was girl next door cute with dark brown, shoulder length hair that might be pretty after a trip to the hair and makeup department; not very tall though, 5'5 maybe 5'6 if she wasn't slouching, but a pair of heels could fix that. She had more baby fat than most of their valets, but she was pretty enough to pass.

"How comfortable are you in front of crowds?" She asked, staring critically at Brody's knotted hair.

"You can't be thinking what I think you are thinking," Hunter groaned before Brody could answer.

"Why not? She's cute enough. Maybe a little short but that's an easy fix. You said so yourself that we don't have time to go _out_ to find a girl. She's already here. She already works for us," she reasoned, "and besides shouldn't we make an example and reward our hardest working employees?"

Brody's eyes went wide as she pieced together what was happening.

"Then give her a raise, don't send her to the ring. Our insurance company would have a field day Steph. We can't send a…" Hunter squinted his eyes at Brody, motioning a saucer sized hand in her direction.

"Wardrobe assistant," Brody answered quietly.

"A wardrobe assistant, Steph. We can't send a wardrobe assistant into the ring for a match."

"Well obviously she won't get _in_ the ring," Stephanie responded nonplussed.

"Even so we can't throw someone with no ring experience, no mic experience, and no crowd experience out in front of thousands of fans."

They debated over Brody as if she was not standing directly in front of them. She tried to get their attention, but was unsuccessful.

"Why not? It would just be for one match, and a dark match at that. It would give us time to find him a permanent valet for TV."

Hunter ran his hand over her face.

"Being a valet isn't exactly rocket science Hunter. She won't even have to hold a microphone, just escort him to the ring and cheer him on."

"It _could_ work," he grumbled letting out a sigh, "and it would be cheaper than sending scouts out to find a local girl last minute…"

Now Brody felt she _had_ to interject.

"I appreciate the offer," she spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully, "but I think you have the wrong-"

Stephanie's hand flew up once more, interrupting Brody's objections.

"Are you saying you are turning down what most would consider a once in a lifetime opportunity? That you don't want to help out not only your company but also your fellow employees?" Stephanie knew how to get what she wanted, something she inherited from her father. No one said 'no' to a McMahon without a _very_ good reason.

What her bosses failed to realize was what they were actually offering was not a reward but a punishment to Brody. Her talents were strictly off stage, but she had a feeling 'no' was only hypothetically an option.

Brody forced smile.

"I would be…honored," she lied.

Stephanie turned to her husband, her smile firmly in place, "well great! We'll have you work through some practice runs. Maybe get one of the girls to go over a few tricks of the trade with you, teach you about how to be a proper valet; then we'll get you over to hair and makeup and you'll be all set." Steph's optimism was intense, and Brody wasn't entirely sure it was genuine.

She nodded her head, trying to keep her smile from turning to a grimace.

"Alright then…?" Stephanie extended her hand.

"Brody."

"Brody! Perfect. A perfect valet name," She said smiling at Hunter waiting for him to agree. He nodded to appease his wife.

"Alright then Brody, we'll get a few things in order, there will be some paperwork to fill out. We'll give you some time to collect yourself…" her gold bangles jangled as she motioned up and down at Brody's sleep worn ensemble, making her feel even more self-conscious. She tried to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "…And look forward to seeing you tonight!"

Hunter began to walk off and Stephanie hurried to join him.

"We'll have someone meet you in the training ring at 9." She turned to catch up with her husband, but stopped to add quickly, "oh your partner! Have you met Jesse? We'll have him meet up with you as well!" She didn't wait for Brody to respond before rushing off, blackberry in hand, typing away furiously.

Brody shut the door of the wardrobe office before throwing herself face first onto her pile of work.

"What have I gotten myself into?" She groaned.

"American audiences are…" Lana paused, trying to avoid the word 'stupid', "easy to please."

Her Russian accent was heavy, and even away from the cameras she stood straight backed and unsmiling. Her hair was tied in a tight bun and her lips painted their usual shade of bright red. The only thing she was missing was her power suit and Rusev.

"Your job is to help the audience along. American audience needs plenty of help," she cracked her first grin.

Brody was certain she was being punished for something.

Lana ran through the basic steps of being a valet, gave Brody a few examples of what to say or how to act to garner heat for Jesse, showed her how to enter and exit the ring without flashing the audience, and then unceremoniously left. Brody wasn't sad to see Lana leave. She could feel the judgment emanating from the Russian's cold stare. She may be one of the best valets, but Brody got the feeling it was less her acting and stage presence and more so that it was easy for her to play a pompous American hating Russian…because she was a pompous American hating Russian.

Brody stood staring at the practice ring, trying to imagine what it would look like surrounded by thousands of screaming fans. She had often imagined herself as a WWE diva. When she was younger she idolized divas like Lita and Trish Stratus, and in the secrecy of her bedroom (away from her teasing brothers) she would pretend she was a diva, waltzing down the ramp while the audience cheered rapturously. As she got older she realized how terrifying it would be to have so many people watching her every move.

At her high school graduation she tripped walking away from the podium, diploma in hand. The hundred or so people in the audience laughed, and her brothers spent the rest of the evening showing repeats of the event, captured on a cell phone, to anyone who would watch. Brody was horrified, and now she imagined it happening, not just in front of her friends and family, but in front of thousands of strangers. Her stomach churned.

"Brody?"

A deep voice interrupted her thoughts and pulled her back to the present. Brody turned to see Jesse towering over her.

Brody knew Jesse vaguely, in passing. He was a new wrestler, being pushed by the WWE to be a top heel but the audience wasn't responding to him. He was young, maybe Brody's age or a year or two older.

"Are you Brody, my new valet?"

Jesse was tall, like all the other superstars with lean, well defined muscles. He had dirty blonde hair that was messily slicked back, away from his face. His features were sharp and angular, making him appear severe. He looked like a heel. Brody took a step back.

Jesse cracked a smile, chuckling at her timidity.

"No need to be so scared. The McMahon's strictly prohibited me from choke slamming any more valets."

A look of pure terror must have flashed across her face because Jesse immediately clapped a hand on her shoulder, laughing his apology.

"A joke I promise! Just trying to loosen you up. You look like you've seen a ghost," he chuckled.

Brody managed to force out a strangled laugh and a pained smile.

Jesse eyed her nervously.

"Sooo, you never answered me. Are you my new valet or am I torturing our new mute trainer?"

The blood rushed to her face.

"Oh yes! Sorry, yes I'm Brody," She held out her hand, "but just for tonight... I mean I'm just your valet for tonight. I'm always Brody, obviously, but only a valet for tonight…usually I work in wardrobe…" She rambled nervously, fighting the urge to slap her hand to her face in embarrassment.

Jesse took her outstretched hand.

"This is gonna be fun," he said with a wry smile.

Jesse spent the next couple of hours running through almost every aspect of the match with Brody. He gave her details on everything he wanted her to do from the walk down the ramp to the walk back up when the match was finished. He laid out careful, detailed instructions not wanting to leave anything up to chance.

The girl's apprehension was clear, and he had serious doubts about the McMahon's choice to use her as a valet. On sight she could pass for a valet, but it wasn't her looks that he was concerned about, it was her stage presence. She was slightly clumsy and awkward. Her movements around the ring seemed forced and unnatural. Her inexperience was obvious and Jesse feared that instead of working the crowd, his new valet might just stand frozen by the ring the entire match.

Jesse watched as Brody practiced her walk down the ramp.

"That's good but let's go over the end of the match again," he motioned for her to join him by the ring.

"Now as I said, the big guys upstairs do not want you in the ring or on the apron for any portion of the match. You can walk along over here, work the audience, slap your hands on the mat, and do all of the other things I showed you, but except for the beginning of the match and the end, you don't step a foot in the ring. Got it?"

Brody nodded. She knew it was common for valets to occasionally interfere with the matches, but since her training was limited to only a few hours she had been banned from stepping even a toe on the mat while the match was taking place, a rule she would have no problem following.

Jesse slid seamlessly into the ring.

"Alright now I've just won my match, the crowd is booing."

They had practiced this several times already. Brody ran through the movements. She was to act oblivious to the audience's jeers, and stand at the stairs, clapping adoringly while the referee lifted Jesse's hand in victory. Then she would "glide" (Jesse's words) up the stairs, slip through the ropes and run to Jesse, planting an excited kiss on his cheek. She would lift his hand again, and the pair would taunt the crowd and Jesse's downed opponent (a local jobber that Jesse didn't remember the name of). They would than exit the ring and bring an end to Brody's career as a valet.

Jesse's win was to come by way of cheating. At some point during the match the referee would be "knocked out" by the tussling opponents. While he's out Brody would slide a folding chair, hidden beneath the mat, to Jesse in the ring. That would be her only involvement in the match itself.

Brody practiced prancing up the stairs and dipping beneath the ropes into the ring.

"Good." Jesse coached, "Now run over to me…" He recited his instructions, though Brody already knew the steps.

She bounded over, feigning exaggerated excitement, but right as she was about to lean in to plant a kiss on Jesse's cheek a slow clap halted her, causing her to stumble slightly forward only to be caught by Jesse.

"Oh don't stop now, you're on a roll."

Dean Ambrose.

Dean Ambrose and Roman Reigns stood, watching from outside the ring. A deep flush crept into Brody's cheeks. How long had they been there?

"What do you want Ambrose?" Jesse snarled.

"For you to move your little dog and pony show outta the ring," Ambrose stated, a cocky grin plastered on his face. "Some of us actually want to wrestle," he gestured to Roman and himself.

Reigns watched silently, unreadable.

Jesse puffed out his chest, sizing up the competition, but in a two on one fight with Roman Reigns and Dean Ambrose it would be no contest. He stared at the two men for a beat, wanting nothing more than to tell them where he thought they should go, but eventually he relented.

"Come on," he grumbled, grabbing Brody's elbow and guiding her out of the ring and past the two men.

Ambrose waved at them tauntingly as they passed, his arrogant smirk firmly in place.

"Fucking assholes," Jesse was mumbling expletives under his breath, his hand still gripping Brody's elbow. She was only half listening. "They act like they fucking own the place."

Brody chanced a glance back at the ring. Ambrose was watching the pair leave, arms crossed and smug as ever. He winked and Brody quickly snapped her gaze forward.

It wasn't until they reached the backstage area that Jesse finally released Brody from his grip.

"We practiced enough anyway. You should be fine. Just remember to relax, pretend that you are obnoxious heel Brody, and lastly if the crowd is booing, you're doing it right." Jesse tried to sound confident but Brody could see the doubt in his eyes.

She attempted a believable smile.

"And don't worry, I'll be with you the whole time," he added reassuringly. He glanced down at his watch. "You should probably head off to make up and wardrobe anyway. I'll meet you in the gorilla position before the show starts." He gave her shoulder a quick friendly squeeze before he left.

Once Jesse was out of sight Brody fell back against the wall and let her body slide to the floor till she was sitting.

"What the hell have I gotten myself into?" She muttered, running her hands over her face.

She sat there slumped over, legs out, head in hands for several minutes.

 _"Just pretend you are heel Brody."_ Jesse's advice lingered.

Heels are unendingly confident. They are strong and unafraid. Brody was going to make a terrible heel.

She groaned and banged her head back against the wall. Backstage employees were scurrying around, feverishly preparing for the show, a few shot curious glances in Brody's direction but most just stepped around her and kept going. The show was going to happen, whether she was ready or not. Reluctantly she lumbered back to her feet. She turned to leave but felt compelled to sneak one last peak at the auditorium. She opened the door a crack, spotting Reigns and Ambrose going back and forth in the ring. They were shouting at each other, playful ribbing.

With the two men distracted she chanced opening the door a little wider. The seats were all empty. Crew members raced around with cords, lights, and other various effects for the night. The sounds of bodies slamming against the mat echoed throughout the arena. Brody took it all in, the sights and the sounds. She was nervous, that was for sure, but deep down she felt something like of jolt of electricity shoot through her, excitement, brief, terrifying excitement.

Brody stepped back from the door, her eyes still on the arena until the door softly clicked shut.

"Quite a sight isn't it?"

The familiar voice caused her to jump.

"I've been doing this almost my whole life and it's never a dull moment." Stephanie McMahon had her most friendly false smile firmly in place. "But I guess you've learned that by now," she playfully swatted Brody's arm with a handful of papers.

Brody managed an apprehensive chuckle.

Stephanie seemed expectant on some kind of positive response but didn't skip a beat when the young girl remained silent.

"Well I just wanted to stop by and check in, see how things are going, and get these new contracts signed before the match tonight."

Brody became visibly concerned at the word 'contract'.

"Oh don't worry! There's nothing to fear. It's mostly a formality, some liability mumbo jumbo and permission to use your image. Things like that," her boss hurriedly assured her, holding the book like packet of papers out for her signature.

Brody sighed. The expectation was that she would sign it without reading it, it was an unspoken pressure. She said a small prayer that this wouldn't come back to haunt her and signed at the dotted line.

It was weird being on the other side of wardrobe, the "talent" side. Having her coworkers go through the same routine that she herself did on numerous occasions left her feeling out of place. One girl took her measurements while another flicked nimble fingers through racks upon racks of clothes, mumbling inaudibly to herself all the while. One outfit would appear, held up in front of Brody before disappearing back into the rack before she even had time to see what they had picked out.

The measurement girl, Jayna, called out numbers to the girl rifling through the clothes. Brody knew both girls in passing. They had coffee together on their breaks and discussed things like who saw John Cena and Nikki Bella arguing, and how catering didn't refill the hummus platter enough. They were hardly friends.

Louise, the girl shuffling through an endless array of crop tops and miniskirts harrumphed.

"A lot of our stuff is too small for you," she mumbled off handedly.

Brody felt the irrational need to apologize for not keeping in Diva-like shape, but Jayna, who was currently measuring Brody's bicep, met her gaze and rolled her eyes.

"Here try this," she tossed a black, stretchy skirt to Brody.

Brody looked down at the skirt and back up at Louise, then back to the skirt.

Louise let out an impatient sigh.

"If you don't take off those terrible sweats pants and try that skirt on I'm going to feed you to Ryback."

Brody was pretty sure Louise was at _least_ half joking, but nonetheless she took a quick glance around the room, making sure there was some form of privacy, and then kicked off her dirty sweats.

The skirt was high waisted, starting just above Brody's belly button and ending an inch or so before her knees. It was tight, tighter than what Brody was used to wearing and she shifted uncomfortably, studying her reflection in the wardrobe mirror.

Louise may not be the friendliest of people but she knew her stuff. The skirt made Brody's legs appear longer, while the cinched in waist flattered her figure and hid her nonexistent six pack abs.

"Now try this," Louise tossed another piece of black clothing at Brody, a top this time.

Brody eyed the article incredulously. It was a crop top that barely met the requirements of a shirt. She owned sports bras that covered more skin. The shirt was black with spaghetti straps and gold studs lining the cups. It was more reminiscent of lingerie than a shirt.

"You've got to be kidding me," Brody exclaimed.

Louise shot her a short glare and Brody knew another threat was coming.

She reluctantly yanked her plain t-shirt off over hear head before squeezing into the skimpy abomination.

The shirt left almost an inch of skin showing between it and the skirt and the cups dipped lower than what Brody's non-enhanced chest was able to pull off.

"We'll shove some chicken cutlets in there and you'll be fine," Louise said, noticing where Brody's attention was focused.

The wardrobe department had a seemingly endless supply of flesh colored, chicken cutlet shaped pieces of rubber. "Breast enhancers" Eliza called them. Brody liked to refer to them as booby bump-its. They were used to give some divas a push in the right direction, so to speak. They were also occasionally used as weapons by slap happy, over worked wardrobe assistants.

Jayna circled Brody, eyeing her up and down before scribbling sloppily in a small notepad. She took a few more measurements, jotted a few more notes and nodded approvingly.

"We'll hem the skirt a bit, tighten the bust and it should be good."

Brody grudgingly sighed, accepting her fate as Louise motioned for her to slip back out of the clothes. She tossed them to Louise, but before she could change back into her normal attire the door to the wardrobe department swung open. Brody froze in place, cursing her luck. Of course it was Dean Ambrose who came sauntering through the door.

Jayna and Louise were quick to react, scolding the intruder in unison.

"Don't you know how to knock?"

"Get out Ambrose!"

Jayna stepped in front of Brody in a poor attempt to shield her from view while Louise tried to shove him out the door. Ambrose didn't budge, and Brody was reaching a new level of hatred for his shit eating grin. She crossed her arms in an attempt to cover her half naked body.

"What are you looking at?" Louise reprimanded him while using all her strength in a futile attempt to push him into the hall. He was a stone wall. He was not going anywhere until he was ready.

"You know I've been begging Vince for months now to bring back the bra and panty matches. If I had known that that's what you guys were practicing for earlier I certainly would not have interrupted," He grinned, feigning some sort of innocence.

Brody stood frozen in horrified silence.

"I said out Ambrose," Louise continued trying to push him into the hallway.

His attention shifted from the almost naked woman in front of him, to the fully clothed one tugging at his arm.

"I came here for wardrobe assistance! This is the _wardrobe department_ isn't it?" He cried in mock indignation.

"We're busy, come back in five minutes. Now out!" Louise shoved harder, but Ambrose didn't move.

Louise let out an exhausted huff.

"She knows what I want," Ambrose gestured to Brody.

Jayna cast a curious glance over her shoulder.

Brody shrugged, her arms still crossed firmly in front of her.

"I have no idea what he's talking about," she said, bewildered.

Dean stood smirking, his eyes locked on Brody. He enjoyed making people squirm.

Louise snapped her fingers in Ambrose's face, bringing his attention back to her.

"Either tell us what you want or get out."

Ambrose held his hands up in surrender.

"So hostile." He paused before finally relenting, "I came to pick up the jacket you said you would have ready for me."

Brody shut her eyes, shaking her head in frustration.

"It's on my work station, back in Eliza's office."

Ambrose nodded but didn't move.

"I'm a little busy right now," Brody hinted, unable to hide her annoyance.

"I'll wait."

Brody stood in wide eyed disbelief. How could a grown man be such a brat?!

"Jesus Christ, I'll get it," Louise grumbled, storming out of the wardrobe department, giving the door a rough slam on the way out.

Jayna and Brody were left alone with Ambrose. Brody was still frozen with her arms covering what she could of her torso. Jayna went back and forth between glaring at Dean and pretending to study her notes from earlier. Dean on the other hand looked completely at ease. He leaned against one of the wardrobe tables, his eyes and hands wandering through the stacks of fabrics and notes with mild interest.

"You know I always wondered whose tits were bigger, Nikki's or Rosa's," he said tauntingly, while flipping through a notebook labeled "Diva's Measurements".

Jayna furiously snatched it from his hands, but Dean just grinned. He caught Brody glaring at him in disgust and threw her a playful wink. It was too easy getting under their skin.

Dean enjoyed needling people, seeing how much it took before they snapped. He took pride in finding the calmest, most level headed person in the room, and breaking them. When they broke it gave him a reason to snap back. An instigator, his teachers used to call him. These girls were too easy though, they let Dean roll right over them. It wouldn't be fun for much longer, and once his game lost its entertainment value aggravation would set it, and Dean's temper was well known for a reason.

"You could at least turn around," Brody grumbled.

"Why? You get to see us half naked all the time. Seems pretty fair," he replied flippantly. "Hell this one's gotten more than her fair share," he hitched his thumb towards Jayna, "the number of times she's felt me up..."

"I was taking measurements!" Jayna exclaimed, turning fire engine red.

Before Ambrose had the opportunity to respond the door flew open and Louise stomped back inside, flinging the black leather jacket at Dean.

"Now out!" She said sternly, not even looking at Ambrose, instead glaring angrily at a rack full of clothes.

Ambrose finally relented, but not before giving Brody one last smug once over.

"Good luck tonight."

Jayna got the door shut and Brody suddenly regained the ability to move, ripping her clothes back on as quickly as possible.

"What a skeaze," Jayna grumbled.

"You should probably get to hair and makeup." Louise sighed as Brody yanked her shirt over her head, "We'll get these hemmed up and drop them off."

"Great," Brody mumbled under her breath.

The girls from hair and makeup and the girls from wardrobe had an unspoken rivalry. They were two sides of the same coin and they never saw eye to eye. Hair and makeup believed that they should have the bigger offices of the wardrobe department, and wardrobe thought hair and makeup hogged too much of the wrestlers time, forcing them to hem and sew furiously last minute. Both sides agreed that the ladies of the other side were a bunch of whores. Brody never took the rivalry very seriously, but she wasn't too sure about the woman yanking a brush so roughly through her hair she was certain a bald spot was beginning to form. She winced, feeling the hair rip from her scalp as the stylist teased it.

"So you were just standing there and they offered you the part?" The hair stylist, Julie, asked incredulously.

Brody could read between the lines. A girl sleeping her way up the ladder was an all too common rumor backstage.

"Yeah, something like th-ow!" Another chunk of hair gone.

"Wow," Julie said suspiciously, "sounds pretty lucky."

"I wouldn't exactly call it luck," Brody griped from under a mound of dark brown curls.

A snarky laugh emanated from behind her.

"You wouldn't?"

Brody recognized the voice all too well. She was surprised she hadn't noticed the busty Bella sitting at the makeup table earlier.

"That's exactly what I would call it. A lowly wardrobe assistant plucked from nothingness and given an opportunity that most people would kill for?" Nikki mused, "Look up 'lucky' in the dictionary girl, because you're it."

Since Brody began working for the WWE she had taken Nikki's measurements, fitted her costumes, mended her shirts, stuffed her bras and never heard so much as a sentence come out of her.

"Let me give you some advice," Nikki waltzed over, leaning down until she was cheek to cheek with Brody, staring at their shared reflection while she spoke, "be grateful, because if I know one thing about Stephanie and Hunter it is that if they think for one second that you are ungrateful for the _wonderful_ opportunity they have given you, you will find yourself sewing sequins at TNA faster than you can say 'pedigree'."

 _RIP_

Brody clamped a hand on her head, letting out a small squeal both out of surprise and pain.

"Sorry."

Julie stood, comb in hand, looking 100% not sorry.

Nikki clapped a hand on Brody's shoulder.

"Don't blow it."

Thirty minutes later and Brody had a headache to rival any hangover, but despite all their heavy handed combing, tweezing, poking and prodding, she was actually beginning to look stage ready. Never before did Brody have so much effort put into her appearance. Her chestnut hair flowed in loose curls down her back. Her blue eyes were rimmed in eyeliner and false lashes. They went the whole nine yards: blush, lipstick, contour, highlighting, eyebrows, the works. She was starting to look like a proper valet.

There was only an hour left till show time when Louise appeared in the doorway of hair and makeup with a bundle of black fabric tucked under her arm.

"I thought I'd go ahead and bring these over to you since we're running so short on _time_ ," she said pointedly.

Julie glanced up from the lock of Brody's hair she was backcombing.

"You can set them down somewhere, _if_ you can find the _space_ ," Julie hissed.

Brody groaned, her headache growing.

"Just hand them to me. I'll hold onto them," she said weakly, not ready for a battle between makeup and wardrobe to be waged while she was sitting at the mercy of Julie's teasing comb.

Louise, who was always up for a little backstage drama, reluctantly handed to bundle to Brody.

Brody grumbled her thanks.

"If you have trouble with anything stop back by wardrobe. _If you have time_ ," she said, making her way slowly out the door, glaring in every direction as she did.

"Hey wait!" Brody exclaimed, temporarily yanking free from Julie's grasp. She was holding a pair of patent leather black pumps out in front of her like they were diseased. "What are these? I can't wear these! I can barely walk in sneakers."

Louise rolled her eyes.

"Honey, you're 5'6 on a good day and Jesse's 6'4 every day. If we send you out in sneakers you'll look ridiculous."

"AJ is way shorter than me and she gets to wear sneakers," Brody tried to reason desperately.

Julie snorted loudly.

"AJ's job is not just to look pretty. She actually wrestles," the hairdresser retorted.

"As much as I hate to say it," Louise said through clenched teeth, "she's right."

With a groan Brody's head fell into her hands, an action that was met with cries of protest from the women who just spent the better part of an hour on her face and hair alone.

"You're going to smudge your makeup!" Julie pried her head out of her hands.

Brody gave Louise the best 'dear God save me' look she could muster, but Louise held her position.

"Sorry girl. I only let girls who can beat me up choose their footwear." She gave her pathetic coworker the most sympathetic smile she could before hurrying back to the wardrobe department.

"Good luck, we'll be watching!" Brody heard her call from the hallway.


End file.
